


Classical Allusions Redux

by ljs



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3964036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljs/pseuds/ljs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An episode tag for the Season 2 finale, "Johnny and Dora."</p>
<p>After everything went down, Raymond didn't call Kevin -- but Gina did.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>When Raymond trudged out of his new office building at the close of day, the first thing he saw was a cab idling at the curb (in defiance of all traffic laws and security considerations). The second thing he saw was his husband looking out the open window of the backseat.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Classical Allusions Redux

When Raymond trudged out of his new office building at the close of day, the first thing he saw was a cab idling at the curb (in defiance of all traffic laws and security considerations). The second thing he saw was his husband looking out the open window of the backseat.

How… Raymond hadn’t had the heart to call or text with the bad news…

“Gina called me, if you were wondering, and she was right to do it,” Kevin said, already half out of the cab. “Come on, Raymond.”

Raymond went, as instructed. He didn’t have the heart to argue, either.

Once they were both safely in the cab, Kevin gave their address to the driver, and then took Raymond’s hand. The clasp was warm and secure and loving, and Raymond didn’t know why his husband’s touch made his throat close with those scalding…feelings. He didn’t wish to categorize the pain and disappointment beyond that general term. He didn’t wish to feel.

“When we get home,” Kevin said quietly, over the street noise and tuneless humming of the cabbie to a Spanish-language song, “we’ll talk. But for now, close your eyes.”

“I don’t want to,” Raymond said. If he shut his eyes, all he could see was that principal of hell, that gloating evil creature that was Wuntch, and all he could feel was the way her claws had searched him. “I really, really don’t want to.”

“Then don’t,” Kevin said equably. His eyes, so blue, gazed at Raymond in assessment and love. “What do you need?”

“Surprisingly, this,” Raymond said, with almost a laugh, and then slouched against Kevin’s warm tweed-clad arm. (He didn’t approve of slouching as a rule, but damn it, there were exceptions, such as the destruction of all his most cherished professional dreams.)

He felt Kevin’s lips against his brow, just a breath, just a reminder of unchanging affection, and then the cab hit a pothole and Kevin said, “We’ll be home soon.” It sounded like a promise.

In silence, Raymond clung to that promise and to Kevin’s hand, until they reached their home.

Cheddar was at the door, greeting them – or more accurately, indicating his wish for food. Kevin – who hadn’t let go of Raymond’s hand yet – bent down and petted their demanding animal, but then straightened and said, “I’ll fix you hot water with lemon, Raymond, if that would make you feel better.”

“Nothing will make me feel better, other than that arch-fiend returning to the sulfurous depths from whence she came,” Raymond said.

This time Kevin’s kiss was a real one, serious and sweet. Then, softly, “Tepid water with lemon, then, and a neck rub if you’d like. Go into the living room and wait for me?”

Raymond nodded, as a sudden rush of all those scalding feelings burned his throat too much for speech.

Their living room was dimly lit, beautifully ordered, safe – just as he and Kevin liked it. It wasn’t the room’s fault that Raymond still felt as if he were wearing his wounds on the outside. He wandered around aimlessly for a moment: touching a bookshelf, picking up the cashmere throw Kevin’s mother had given them and then letting it go, turning on a lamp and watching his hand move through the lamplight.

When Kevin came back, with mug in hand and dog at heel, Raymond managed, “I’m sorry. I’m not behaving very well.”

“No need for apologies.” Kevin handed Raymond the mug, then smoothed his hands over Raymond’s shoulders. “May I take off your jacket?”

“Yes,” Raymond said. The difference between his husband’s loving touch and his enemy’s violation of him was more than he could describe.

Warm, close, Kevin deftly unbuttoned the jacket and then slid it off Raymond’s body, his hands following where clothing had departed. With a swift, accurate motion he tossed the jacket onto an armchair, and then urged Raymond to the sofa. “I’ll give you that neck rub now. I can feel you’re too tight from here.”

Raymond took a sip of his drink. The lemon was stronger than the threat of tears.

After Kevin sat, he widened his legs so that there was (just about) room for one former captain of the Nine-Nine to sit. “Come on, Raymond,” he said again, and again Raymond obeyed.

Warm thighs around him, warm body behind him – it was ridiculous to feel so safe, but there it was. Raymond put the mug down on the coffee table, on a coaster they had purchased in Provincetown a decade ago, and silently bowed his head.

Kevin began working at the knots in Raymond’s shoulders and neck. His hands were so skilled at knowing where the hurts were, at pressing in and letting them go. But oh, there were so many knots. So many points of pain. Raymond was grateful that Kevin hadn’t insisted on his taking off Raymond’s shirts. The slide of cotton on skin was itself soothing.

After a few moments, Kevin said quietly, “Gina said that Wuntch must have threatened you, or else you’d never have taken the new job. Was that right?”

“Yes,” Raymond said. It was easier to speak now. “She would have broken up the squad, sent them off to the worst postings in the five boroughs. I couldn’t allow that.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Kevin said dryly, and then kissed Raymond’s nape. “Although it might have been good for Peralta.”

On a strangled laugh, Raymond said, “You are always so hard on him. Although I would admit there’s all the cause in the world.”

“Indeed.” Kevin kneaded Raymond’s shoulders one more time, then with one hand pressed him forward. “I’ll go a bit further down, if that’s all right.”

“It’s heaven,” Raymond said.

Kevin’s breath caught at that, Raymond didn’t know why, but then his hands traversed Raymond’s spine and Raymond stopped thinking. The heels of Kevin’s hands now, and so sure, so controlled against accumulated pain; fingers now, digging deep and then lifting.

In a quiet storytelling voice, Kevin said, “I think I shall call you Aeneas, my darling, the one who lost a war but then founded a great light of the world. However, you may not treat me as he did Dido.”

“I wouldn’t,” Raymond said. “I love you.”

“All right.” Kevin drifted his fingers over the worst of Raymond’s knots, and began, “’Of arms and the man I sing, who, forced by fate/ And haughty Juno’s unrelenting hate,/ Expelled and exiled, left the Trojan shore…'”

As his husband’s clear voice and talented hands continued, Raymond finally closed his eyes on lamplight and love. He would take this comfort and heal, and then after this hiatus, he would go forth and conquer. He could build Rome, and Wuntch he would throw to the wolves. 

Kevin always knew just what Raymond needed.


End file.
